


Advent Drabbles

by megyal



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Drabble Sequence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-30
Updated: 2006-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-11 11:40:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 5,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/adventdrabbles/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://community.livejournal.com/adventdrabbles/"><strong>adventdrabbles</strong></a> challenge</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. To All a Good Night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/adventdrabbles/profile)[**adventdrabbles**](http://community.livejournal.com/adventdrabbles/) challenge

Harry thought that the successful end of a war would mean bursts of fresh sunlight as the clouds parted and sparrows sung in unbridled glee. What he got for his troubles was a demolished left kneecap and a right arm that was shattered from shoulder to wrist; he lay facedown on a low hillock, face turned to the side and dimmed eyes staring at his broken wand. He supposed he could summon enough energy to place his face in the mud and suffocate himself. _It would be poetic_, he thought, even as it began to snow in a light sickly manner.

A movement twitched at the corner of his eye, and he watched in cool interest as a hand trembled down and snatched up the split halves of his wand. He recognized the Malfoy crest on Draco's right ring-finger, and then made the afore-mentioned effort to commit Suicide by Mud-Squelching.

"Ah, ah, ah," Draco rasped, pulling up Harry's head by a handful of dirty hair, and rolling him over. Harry gave a soundless scream, and Draco calmly placed the wand-pieces on his chest. "Happy fucking holidays, Potter."


	2. From now on, our troubles will be out of sight

Hagrid was the one who found Malfoy perched over Harry like a tattered vulture, idly hexing the odd left-over Death Eater debouching out of the gloom; he even hexed Hagrid, and did not seem particularly apologetic when he said _sorry_. Hagrid gave him a level look, and then peered at Harry's too-still body.

"Oh," he said. "Oh, 'Arry."

Malfoy said, "Oh, he's not dead. Look," and he poked Harry in the knee with the tip of his wand. Harry shuddered and opened his eyes.

"Bloody buggering _fuck_," he groaned and Hagrid was scandalized.

"'Arry Potter!" he said breathlessly, relieved that Harry was alive, and then wondering where he learnt to curse like that. Harry looked at him with a deeply rooted joy.

"Please. Just. He's annoying the _shit_ out of me," Harry said, and then went quiet. Draco went at him again, eyes gleaming, but Hagrid managed to wrest the wand out of his slim hands.


	3. scary ghost stories and tales of the glories

Remus and Granger finally arrived at what would be known as the Dark Hollow, due to the large black crater with the crisply charcoaled ground created by Voldemort's spectacular death. Muggle authorities blamed a massive meteorite and felt lucky that it was miles away from any settlements. The area was strangely avoided for a very long time, and roaming bands of summering boys would dare each other to go near it, saying it was haunted.

Remus put Harry in a full-body bind, as to not aggravate his injuries, and Draco suffered himself to be carried by Hagrid, yelling at Remus constantly as the weary werewolf levitated Harry.

"Lupin! You nearly bashed his big head on that rock! If you were going to kill him even more, you should have told me. I could have helped."

Remus ignored him, but listened to Harry's feverish mutterings; he could have sworn he heard Harry say _strangle_, _fucking_, and _Malfoy_, and he wondered if Sirius was the one who had taught Harry to curse like that.


	4. since we've no place to go

By sheer misfortune, the Malfoy Manor was the closest warded building that Remus could think of, and both Hogwarts and St. Mungo's were filled to overflowing with the hexed and the physically-wounded. He watched in resignation, Harry floating serenely beside him as Malfoy hobbled from wing to wing, screeching in an unholy manner to summon house-elves out of hiding.

He gave them a room in the south wing, stating with a sniff that it had thicker walls and was warmer. Remus set Harry in a massive bed and waved his wand to set up the monitoring charms Pomfrey had taught him; Harry's heart-rate was now far too slow. Remus activated the life-support spell, and tried not to notice Malfoy carefully removing the sneering portraits of his parents off the wall.


	5. join in any reindeer games

"Come in," Hermione said, smiling at Draco a little; From the door, he could see Harry breathing slowly, the life-monitoring charms glowing a steady green over his head, his mended arm folded against his chest. Draco shook his head.

"I was just checking-" Draco started darkly, remembering how Harry's arm had looked twisted beside him in the blank unhappy battlefield, the snow caressing the black hair. Harry seemed to grin in his sleep.

"Come in. Sit here, on the bed." She patted the sheets, and Draco flicked an irritable gaze at Granger.

She was still smiling faintly, and Draco sat down, carefully close to Harry's warmth.


	6. he sees you when you're sleeping (he knows when you're awake)

Harry floated awake to a gnawing pain all along his right arm, and an echo of that in his knee. He seemed to have some trouble inhaling, but he found if he took his time a little, the pressing ache in his chest started to ease up. He heard a faint sound to his left, and turned his head on a massively comfortable pillow to see Malfoy leaning forward in a large armchair. Harry decided to pre-empt him.

"Malfoy, please don't poke me with your wand." His voice was low and croaky, and it hurt to talk. Malfoy looked at him with wide eyes, dark in the wavering candlelight, and then he smiled slyly.

"Which wand are we talking about, Potter?" and Harry, so glad to be alive, started out with a laugh and ended up coughing hard.


	7. meeting smile after smile

Harry had demanded his letters as soon as Remus said that he could sit up properly, and Draco watched him go through them with a sort of wary hunger. His face, lined with despair and pain, now broadcasted deep flashes of loss at Weasley's reports of the dead or badly wounded. There was little good news; Weasley himself had lost an eye, his father and his eldest brother.

Draco waited until he had finished the pile of parchment, then handed him a slim creamy envelope, his personal seal stamped in red wax. Harry raised his eyebrows, one of which had been nearly singed off, and opened it eagerly. He read Draco's straight confident handwriting, giggling at the disparaging descriptions of everything: the house-elves, how Hagrid had smelled when he carried Malfoy, how his parents had yelled from their portraits, and by the time he was finished, Harry was holding onto his chest and howling with laughter, and Lupin stampeded into the stuffy room and demanded to know if Draco was trying to kill Harry with mirth. _Again_.


	8. although it's been said many times, many ways

Harry noticed that Malfoy fidgeted when he was feeling nervous, thumb sliding against the pads of slender white fingers, elbows pressing in and out of his sides; Harry kept his mouth shut and watched the snow fall gently, seated in the comfortable sofa that Remus had placed at the window nearby. He was absentmindedly wondering if Malfoy would accept a Christmas gift from him, and that thought led to musings if Diagon Alley was still intact, when Malfoy finally spoke up.

"Potter," he snarled half-heartedly, and Harry smiled at the charmed glass of the window. "I wanted...to apologize."

Harry turned a questioning face to him. Malfoy's mouth worked before he tried again, softer this time.

"For everything I and my own have done to you. I'm sorry. Harry."

Harry stared, but Malfoy refused to look in his face.

"Apology accepted. If you'll accept mine. Draco."

He returned to his almost-casual inspection of the snow; he heard Draco give a slight sigh beside him, and literally felt when he relaxed completely, sitting still.


	9. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Draco was a little tired of Harry griping about not being able to leave the bed and go walk in the snow. Why anyone would want to walk in that slushy shit was quite beyond him, but Harry was turning out to be quite the professional whiner. Draco, a master complainer himself, was profoundly impressed.

So, he would shut Harry up. Not the Malfoy way, because that involved the dungeons and some fancy chains, but the Draco way: he crept into Harry's room (and it _was_ Harry's room, even though it was right smack in the middle of Malfoy Manor) and murmured the charm he remembered his mother taught him, the one that made the walls and roof transparent. He didn't realise Harry was awake until he turned around, and the moonlight glimmered within wide green eyes, bright enough to set off flecks of hazel.

"Brilliant," Harry breathed, but instead of the snow he was staring at the light in Draco's hair.


	10. for auld lang syne, my dear

Remus came into Harry's room every morning at nine-thirty, to find Harry and Draco talking. Mostly, their conversation would be stilted and polite, mundane topics such as the weather; at times, Remus found, as he gave Harry his potions, there would be a flashpoint of insult, quite like a reflex-action. Harry's face would go young and lively and his slim frame would lean forward in the bed, pushing into Draco's bubble of personal space. Remus remembered Draco from his days teaching, how the Slytherin seemed to have a invisible circle drawn around him that very few people dared to trespass, and that Malfoy himself would hardly step out of; so he was fairly amazed, and not really, to find Draco responding to Harry, leaning forward as well, amused metallic disdain spitting out of his eyes.

Once, when Remus handed Harry a disastrously long and final list of people who had perished in the War, (everyone, Light and Dark and Undecided), he noted that Draco's invisible circle seemed to pull around Harry, because the sides of their hands were brushing together on top of the coverlet as Harry tried to blink away his tears.


	11. You nauseate me, Mr. Grinch

Draco skulked around his own manor is the darkest of moods, unable to even throttle one house-elf because of Granger's exasperating presence. How _dare_ the Weasel come into his house and look dashing in his eye-patch, and sit beside Harry where _he_ usually sat every single bloody morning, and make Harry's face bright up so effortlessly? He should have made the wards decapitate the gingery git.

He heard them chuckling low as he billowed by the room every fourteen seconds, Harry's laugh sounding as if it would taste like hot chocolate sauce on Draco's tongue, and he was trying to perish that thought on his twenty-seventh pass when he heard Weasley say, "Here, mate, I got you some old Quidditch mags to look at. I know you love the miles of man-flesh," and Draco, in his surprise, stumbled and fell through the door.


	12. Don we now our gay apparel

Draco picked himself up off the carpet with every bit of Malfoy grace he could muster, and sent a frosty stare in the direction of the Weasel, who had a hand over his mouth, stuffing in the laughter; he was pleased to note that Harry was glaring at Weasley as well, and he hurriedly snatched at a magazine, noticing Harry's sudden blush.

"Potter," Draco croaked, not even _pretending_ that he hadn't been nosing about outside. "Are you saying that you're gay?"

Harry gave him a curious look, and then shrugged.

"I suppose you might say that...I like who I like. What sex they are doesn't matter."

"I see," Draco. _Oh, I see_, he chortled to himself gleefully and shook out the tattered Quidditch magazine. "So. Whose man-flesh you like to ogle? Maybe...this one?" He pointed to a dark-headed Beater posing brashly with the rest of the team.

"What? Oh. Well...yeah," Harry said, and gained an amused calculating look in his face, giving Draco a surprisingly sly sidelong glance. "I like his eyes."

Draco kept his delight in check when he noticed the light grey eyes of the man.


	13. To face unafraid, the plans that we've made

Ron was snarking at Draco, sneering at him as he flipped through the Quidditch magazines with Harry; actually, his snarking activities were only half-hearted, after being on the receiving end of a few pointed stares from Harry. He rolled his eye, and wondered if it would be wise to get a restless one like Moody's, if only to freak Malfoy out.

Harry seemed genuinely happy though. His smile, something Ron had sorely missed, was back in full effect, and Ron was re-evaluating his basic opinion of Malfoy. If he could reduce Harry to hapless giggles like that, maybe he had some use after all.

He was still a slimy bastard, though.

Malfoy had a small smile on his face that was entirely wiped off when Hermione came in, a blank look on her face, to hand Draco a Ministry envelope. He opened it in apprehension.

_...as the last of the Malfoy line, you are hereby summoned to face the Wizengamot to answer charges committed by your family against the state. You are permitted one personal advocate in addition to your lawyer. Please have this advocate sign the dotted line below, and send in by return owl before eight pm tonight...._

Harry took the document out of Draco's trembling fingers and frowned as he read it.

Harry held out his hand to Ron. "Lend me your wand, will you?" and Ron handed it over without question. Harry tapped his chin absently with the tip of the wand, and then held it like a pen, making a faint scribbling motion in the air over the parchment and muttering _subcriptio_. His name appeared in a strong script on the dotted line, glowing a molten silver before cooling to black. Draco took back the document, staring at him.

"Potter, you didn't-"

"Yes, I did." Harry threw the wand back to Ron, and then smiled at Draco. "Just consider it one of your Christmas presents."


	14. you can count on me

"You look nice," Draco whispered as he sat waiting for the hearing to begin. Harry turned his head a little, and Draco could see his cheek move in a slow smile. Granger was on Harry's other side, rustling through an encyclopedia-thick sheaf of papers, muttering excitedly over them. Harry turned fully towards him, his body still slightly stiff, and pulled his black robes closer to his thin frame.

"Malfoy, we're at a _hearing_, and you're checking me out. I really can't believe you." Harry had a small grin on his face, and Draco suddenly was filled with the certainty that as long as Harry Potter spoke on his behalf, he was good as gold. His scheming mind rubbed mental hands together gleefully at this, and he felt like twirling a mustache or something. The things he could pull, now that Harry was his friend! The world was at his feet!

_But_, he abruptly thought, _I'm actually pretty fucking tired of wanting the world at my feet. Maybe I only need one thing_.

He looked at Harry and gave a sharp exhale, really a sigh of relief, even though the Council of Wizards was filing into the low-lit room. Harry mistook this for a sound of anxiety and rested his hand on top of Draco's.

"Its fine," Harry said, voice firm and low. "I'm here."

Draco turned over his hand and squeezed Harry's fingers.

"I know, you sodding hero. I know."


	15. You will get a sentimental feeling

After the hearing, Draco felt as if he had played a full day of Quidditch...and lost. He was in Lucius' former study, rummaging through the neat desk drawers, when he heard his father's sharp tones address him from the family portrait perched on the mantel.

"Well. What did they take for our 'crimes against the state'?"

Draco sighed.

"The lands in Austria and Australia. The manor in Paris...and the other one in South Africa. But we've kept the manor and the land here, thanks to Harry."

Lucius tried to sneer and choke at the same time.

"Oh, yes," Draco said with dark glee. "He went into a long impassioned speech about not taking my home away from me, sins of the father and all that. I was surprised at how well he spoke."

Lucius was turning red on the portrait, and Draco shook his head, staring the livid image in the eye.

"I nearly went down with you, Father. I loved you. You taught me everything I know...and yet, it was not enough."

"Child-"Lucius began but Draco took up the parchment he had located and went to the door.

"I'm not a child anymore, Father. You've made your choices. I will make my own. Happy Christmas."

As he stepped out, Harry was standing there, waiting. Draco shoved the papers of ownership in his hands, and stalked away to lock himself in his rooms.


	16. the sturdy kind that doesn't mind the snow

Draco brooded in his room for approximately thirty-five minutes and got a little tired of it. For a person who was highly trained in the Fine Art of Sulk, he was well aware that the only satisfaction gained in the activity was attention, of which he was receiving none. From Harry. Which wasn't really important (and yes it was). He sighed, wondering if Harry had delivered the stack of parchment that had been his legacy to the Ministry as yet, and then clomped downstairs with the stormiest look he could muster on his face.

He found Harry alone in the smallest sitting-room, the one with all the cozy furniture and where Harry had gotten that dumpy little fir-tree was beyond Draco. It was squat and short, and Harry was throwing far too much tinsel on one side, so the whole thing looked imbalanced. Draco rolled his eyes, and frightened Harry quite badly by grabbing some silver tinsel out of his hands.

"Harry, this is the ugliest tree I have ever seen," Draco lied in a disgruntled voice and Harry simply smiled, plunging into a more important topic with true Gryffidorish bravado.

"Are you finished being mad? Because those other places were just places, Draco."

"Don't you even start," Draco snarled, and flicked his wand furiously to affix tiny unlit candles to the tree. "Those were my _birthright_. An orphan like you wouldn't understand such a thing."

There was a cool silence and Draco was wondering if there was a way he could curse his own mouth shut when Harry spoke up.

"You're probably right," he shrugged, looking at the star in his hands. A house-elf must have found the decorations for him, Draco mused, looking at Harry's long capable fingers. "From what I've learnt in life, though, is that the only important birthright is myself." He blinked at Draco slowly, a wink of green behind his glasses, and then placed the star in Draco's hands. Draco stared at the glittering shape for a long moment and then stuck it unceremoniously on the top of the tree. In a sudden distracted fit, he grabbed onto Harry's hand, and whispered the spell to set the candles alight.

As he watched the little tree glow softly, Harry's hand tightened in his.


	17. happy in a million ways

Harry felt the cool smooth skin of Draco's hand shimmering under his fingers, and had the perfectly irrational thought that every good thing in his life had boiled right down to the uncomplicated serenity he was feeling now. Granted, Draco was possibly the snarkiest person he had ever met, but Harry had dealt with much worse than a snappy temper and sharp words. Harry liked simple things. And simply, even after being dragged through the muddy half-lives and stern wizard-councils, Draco made him smile.

Being a Gryffindor, and most likely still suffering from Dark Lord-induced madness, he said this to Draco.

Draco turned to stare at him, eyes big, shiny and filled with a sly hope in the twinkle of the tiny candles; Harry grinned as if he was standing in the rain after a long drought, reeled Draco in by their clasped hands and kissed him soundly.


	18. my world is filled with cheer and you

Draco found himself rubbing a thumb over his own mouth many times during the day, with a faint air of absent delight. Harry caught him at it once, when they were having dinner in the upper dining hall with the werewolf, Granger, and a herd of surviving Weasleys, (his mother sniffed from her portrait that it was a _breakfast_ room, and having dinner in there was simply _wrong_, not to mention _who_ was eating there, Salazar preserve her); a tiny smile had quirked the corner of Harry's mouth and Draco had looked away quickly.

Draco tried to convince himself he was not the blushing type, and the Weasel took the opportunity to ask him in a too-innocent voice if the food was too spicy; why did he look so flushed?

Draco escaped into the gardens, sitting in a bower that was filled with the bare spiky branches, his heavy black cloak wrapped around him securely. His mother had never liked to be in the gardens, and it was actually Draco who supervised them, since he was about ten. He would throw fits at school when his mother sent owls about which plant had died under her care.

He was staring at a plant close to his feet, pondering how long Spring would take to come and clothe it in soft, strong colours, (and wondering under _that_ how long it would take for Harry to kiss him again), when he found a hand coming to his mouth that was not his own. He pulled back a little and then froze as Harry's thumb brushed across his mouth. They sat there, Harry pulling up close beside him, dressed in a massive brown cloak, his fingers moving gently from Draco's lips to his forehead, brushing his hair out from his chilled face, tucking it back before exploring the delicate whorls of his ear. Draco felt like his whole body was stuck in a bonfire.

Harry removed his hand and looked in his face with a satisfied expression.

"Had enough, Harry?" Draco croaked out. Harry simply smiled and looked pointedly at the plant that Draco had been considering. It seemed to shake off a layer of frost and then large red petals unfurled out of nowhere, green stem, thorns and leaves melting into view beneath it. Harry reached down and plucked it carefully; he held it to Draco, who noted that below the serene visage, Harry's eyes were anxious.

"Have you?"

Draco made him sweat a bit before taking the luxurious rose.

"Showoff," he muttered, and Harry let out a huff of relieved amusement.


	19. all is calm; all is bright

Harry was expecting something from his friends when he dragged Draco back inside the Manor, clutching his wrist with cold fingers. Maybe a stern _for Merlin's sake, Harry, it's_ Malfoy, from Ron or a _what the hell are you thinking_ from Hermione, but they only looked at him with sly grins as he and Draco hurried past the open library, grins that had been washed in a war and that were just happy to be hung out alive.

He walked them to Draco's rooms, because he had only been in there once and he actually liked them. Instead of a cascade of Slytherin green, it was done mostly in dark blues and browns, a combination that Harry had never seen before, but thought was well-done. Draco's quarters were surprisingly cozy and warm, and when he locked the door and slowly unbuttoned his shirt, looking right into Draco's scheming eyes, he saw the grey shaded a balmy cobalt by the walls. Harry pulled off his shirt and reached for the front of Draco's robes; when he finished, Draco shrugged off the garment and stepped forward into the circle of his arms; Harry was simply ecstatic to feel the thump of Draco's heart against his skin.

"I thought you would be cold," Harry murmured into the radiant fall of hair as he backed Draco to the bed. "Did you know they called you the Ice Prince back in school?"

"I know," Draco wrinkled his nose and Harry kissed it. He tilted his head back and looked at Harry through a spare fan of lashes. "This is strange. You and I. Didn't we hate each other, once upon a time?" He felt the back of his knees hit at the edge of the bed, and he sank down into it, dragging himself backwards towards the mounds of pillows with his elbows and feet, Harry stalking up between his legs. Harry laughed.

"I tend to stop hating people who make an effort to save my life. It must be a Gryffindor thing. You?" Harry licked at his neck, resting fully against him and Draco wriggled to distribute his weight better.

"I tend to save people who might be useful to me in the future. It's definitely a Slytherin thing."

Harry looked down at him, and then slid off, lying at his side. He touched Draco's cheekbone, the same amazed, reverent touch that he used in the gardens, and Draco tried not to smile too hard.

"This is alright, you know," Harry said, and Draco, turning on his side as well so they were face-to-face, secretly loved the fact that Harry was turning out to be such a tactile person. "We can just...lie here. Like this."

Draco draped his leg, still in trousers, over Harry's jeans-clad hip. He pressed his palm against the tranquil dip of Harry's waist, and nodded.

"This is possibly the best Christmas I've ever had," Harry whispered, setting his face close to Draco's, almost purring in pleasure as Draco stroked his skin. Draco, watching as Harry fell into a contented doze, had to agree.


	20. we've been good, but we can't last

Draco snapped awake and Harry leaned away from him.

"Don't move, Potter," Draco muttered, trying to snuggle deeper into the warmth that was Harry. "What did I say to you? Cease that wriggling, now."

Harry came forward again and whispered something against his jaw; Draco went _hmmm?_ without really wanting to know what he was saying. They had fallen asleep on top of the coverlet, and Draco continued his attempts at tucking himself, lanky limbs and all, more securely against the slim security of Harry.

"I said, this feels nice," Harry clarified, and Draco felt smug.

"Of course it does...wait. Is that your _hand_ on my _rear_?"

Harry gave a slight squeeze and Draco inhaled sharply.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, and his voice was far too silky for comfort. "Let me move it."

Draco literally jumped as Harry's hand trailed over his hip and pressed flat against his crotch, and then cursed himself and his awful hormones for getting hard that fast.


	21. [Dec23]: mele kalikimaka

Draco looked over Harry's shoulder and saw the snow falling heavily, flurries of white flashing past the small spaces in the closed curtains. Snow outside, paradise inside; he mentally rolled his eyes at the sudden influx of sappiness in his system. Maybe it had to do with the fact he was naked in his bed with a Gryffindor. That was it; Mushiness by Osmosis.

He inhaled loudly, mouth and eyes wide open as Harry did something twisting with his fingers, sliding slickly inside him, pressing, searching, _finding_. There was a short laugh from above him, and Harry kissed his chin as he arched his head back in pleasure.

"Ah. There you are. I was starting to think you weren't paying attention."

Draco looked up at him, this strange sensual being in Harry Potter's skin, the green eyes intent and needy. He felt boneless, unafraid, attractive; he parted his legs even more, breathing hard.

Snow outside, paradise inside, inside _him_, opening and stretching; Draco bit his lip carefully, feeling Harry's hands wind around him, holding him tight lest he fall, but it was too late, because he had fallen already and he _would_ fall, over and over again, right into a sunny idyll.

"Please, please," he panted. "I need-"

"I know. Shhh." Harry's voice was strained and Draco placed his mouth over his throat, to soothe it. "Don't...try not to say a word."

Silent snow outside, silent paradise inside.


	22. the most wonderful day of the year.

Harry Potter dreamed.

_People think that he is shy, a retreating personality that doesn't like the limelight. This is true, for most things. However, when he sees something he wants, Harry goes in for it like its his Christmas present._

He dreamed of dark sky, blurred lines of trees and branches, Voldemort's hand raised in fury. He was afraid, then, afraid of being killed, afraid of never seeing his friends again; afraid of not knowing what it was like to lie in a bed with the snow falling outside and feel warm and safe.  
He was not afraid in this dream now.

_On one unfortunate Yuletide, someone told Draco that he couldn't get something he wanted. He had given them an icy five-year-old glare, and proceeded to prove to them that whatever Draco wants, Draco _ gets_. There is no question there._

Draco Malfoy dreamed.

He dreamed of a brilliant spear of green light and holding his breath in sheer terror. He dreamed of staggering in the mud, his face grimy and cold, hunting, hunting. There was a light dusting of snow, and he literally cried out to see the still form of a boy on the brink of being a man lying nearly face-down in the mud. Draco stopped himself from laughing in mad relief when the boy-man turned his head, spotted him, and tried to push his own face back into the mud. It was not really funny, and at the same time, it was the happiest moment in his life.

_One day, Hermione will tell Ronald that Draco Malfoy is an argumentative, spiteful, underhanded, manipulative piece of _shit_ and she will blacken his other eye for raising her blood pressure so drastically. Ronald will agree fervently and offer to help her beat him to a pulp. Draco and Harry will walk into their small living room; Draco will give his insufferable smile and Harry will give his...well, _Harry_-smile, all open and happy. They will see the way Harry looks at Draco, as if he just opened the best Christmas present in the world, and how Draco looks at Harry, like he finally got exactly what he wanted. Hermione will mutter darkly, and shelve plans for Draco-destruction._

Harry woke up, his dream wisping away into nothing as his neck was being attacked by a curious mouth. He grabbed onto Draco, rolling them so that he lay on his back and Draco's hair fell in a curtain around his face.

"Happy fucking Christmas, Malfoy," Harry smirked gently, and Draco collapsed among peals of laughter, sweet in the early morning hours of Christmas day.

_fin_


End file.
